


Uneasy Relations

by centaury_squill



Series: Relations [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centaury_squill/pseuds/centaury_squill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kingsley Shacklebolt gives Auror Harry Potter an important mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uneasy Relations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [torino10154](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torino10154/gifts).



> torino10154's liking for Snape/Petunia snark inspired the way this fic developed. ;D
> 
> Written for Snarry Swap 2011.

Harry awoke sneezing, with a sore throat and runny nose. He lay staring miserably at the ceiling for a few minutes. He was strongly tempted to owl the Ministry, taking the day off sick. But eventually the thought of the interminably long day stretching ahead with only himself for company drove him out of bed and into the bathroom, searching for a bottle of Pepper-Up.

He banged irritably through the cabinets, finding nothing but a few jars and bottles of nameless potions Ginny had left behind when she moved out. Finally, shoved to the back of a shelf, he found a three-quarters empty bottle of Pepper-Up Potion. Harry blearily blinked at himself in the mirror as he pulled out the cork.

"You do look rough, dearie," the mirror wheezed sympathetically.

Harry shrugged, and drank the remains of the potion direct from the bottle. Only a thin trickle of steam issued reluctantly from his ears; presumably the Pepper-Up had lost its potency over the months – years? since it had first been opened.

The mirror tutted. "You need a nice young witch to look after you, dearie."

Harry glared at it. "Gay, remember?"

His own face glared back: red-eyed, unshaven, pale beneath the black bristles.

"You don't _look_ very gay," giggled the mirror.

"You know what I mean," growled Harry, picking up his wand and casting perfunctory cleaning and shaving charms, before stumbling back into his bedroom to get dressed.

By the time he was ready to leave for work, he felt marginally better, but still didn't fancy the chest-constricting nausea of Apparition. Blessing his forethought in moving to a flat within walking distance of the Ministry, Harry stepped out into the raw November morning.

*

As Harry made his way through the cheerful bustle of the Auror office, exchanging greetings with several colleagues on the way, he was glad he'd overcome his impulse to stay off sick: even more so when a paper aeroplane memo followed him through the maze of cubicles to land on his desk. Opening it out, Harry saw it was from Kingsley Shacklebolt, asking Harry to report to his office ASAP.

"It's _not_ possible till I've had some coffee," Harry muttered to himself, heading for the break room kept stocked with a constant supply of hot tea, coffee and snacks by the Ministry's house-elves.

He'd just finished his first cup and was wondering whether to pour himself a second, when another pale violet paper aeroplane zoomed in and butted impatiently against his hand. Harry captured it and ripped it open. It was stamped with Kingsley's office seal and simply said: NOW, Potter.

Harry wondered what the normally laid-back Kingsley considered so urgent. The strong coffee had made him feel a bit better, but he wasn't sure he was up to going out on a mission. He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. Then he eyed the coffee jug longingly.

Another paper aeroplane immediately flew into the break room and began circling his head. Harry didn't even bother trying to open it: he set off obediently for Kingsley's office, followed by the memo, which was soon joined by two more. By the time he reached his destination he had an entourage of half-a-dozen of the things.

He opened Kingsley's door without bothering to knock, batted away a paper aeroplane which was threatening to poke him in the eye, and looked accusingly at his boss.

"Where's the fire, sir?"

Kingsley looked up from his desk, smiled at Harry, and waved his hand at the memos, which instantly disappeared.

"Sorry about those," he said, "but this really couldn't wait. You'll see why in a minute."

His next actions surprised Harry. Kingsley took out his wand and, pointing it at each corner of the room in turn, quickly and competently cast a series of non-verbal spells. He finished by running the wand around Harry himself before locking and warding the door.

"Do we have a security problem?" Harry asked. His brain felt as though it was stuffed with cotton wool this morning; thinking was difficult, but this was the only explanation he could find. He sneezed again.

Kingsley eyed him with concern. "You're looking rather peaky, Harry."

"Only a cold," Harry said, shrugging.

"Better call in and see the Ministry mediwitch before you go home," said Kingsley. "Anyway, in answer to your question: yes, it's entirely possible that we may have a problem." He leaned forward across his desk and his deep voice was serious as he added, "It could just be careless talk, but I'm afraid it's more than that. The fact is, that out of our last four raids, only one went according to plan. In all the others, by the time we got there, the birds had flown."

"Ah," Harry said. He'd been on one of the failed raids himself, remembered the bitter disappointment he'd felt when their target had eluded them.

"And in the successful raid," Kingsley went on, "we only caught a small-fry ex-Death Eater, who couldn't tell us anything we didn't know already. Which is significant in itself. It implies that our security problem is due to a deliberate leak, rather than just careless talk to friends and family. Now, Harry, one reason I've called you in is because I know I can trust you not to talk out of turn –"

"– and anyway I don't have any friends or family," muttered Harry.

Kingsley looked hurt. "I'd like to think you considered me a friend, Harry," he said.

Harry shrugged. "Sorry. Ignore me. I'm just feeling sorry for myself." He pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. " _One_ reason?"

Kingsley nodded. "The other reason is – this." He flourished his wand at a dark corner of the room. For a moment Harry could see nothing there, and wondered what Kingsley thought he was doing. Then he gasped.

With a shimmer of silver, a doe Patronus stepped daintily out into the middle of the room.

*

For a moment, Harry was back in the Forest of Dean, experiencing again all the positive impressions he'd had on his first sight of the beautiful creature. Even now, with all he'd learnt subsequently, his overwhelming feeling was one of trust.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Harry."

Harry wrenched his gaze away from the silver doe's. "Uh, yeah?"

"I must ask for your promise of secrecy on this."

"Of course," Harry said. "I swear." He hesitated for a moment. "So the rumours were true, then?"

Kingsley was smiling. "Rumours?"

"That Snape survived? I was never sure whether to believe –"

"Oh yes," Kingsley said. "It's not known to the general public, but Snape did, indeed, survive." He turned to the silver doe. "Give your message again, please."

The doe lowered her head in acknowledgement, then spoke with Snape's voice.

"Kingsley. I'm tired of skulking and hiding. I want safe conduct and a fair trial. Whoever is to escort me should send their own Patronus back with mine now, with a message to that effect. I will only accept one of the following: you, yourself; Minerva McGonagall; Filius Flitwick – or –"

There was a long pause, then Snape's voice added, somewhat reluctantly, "– Harry Potter."

Kingsley put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I won't deceive you," he said, his voice very serious, "this is potentially a very dangerous mission. Snape was in Voldemort's inner council, present at all manner of strategy meetings. If there are as yet unknown Death Eaters still working at the Ministry, chances are Snape will be able to identify them. So if you do agree to escort him, you should be aware that the Death Eaters will do all they can to stop you. They want Snape dead." He paused, looking ruefully at Harry. "Of course most of the Wizarding world believe he _is_ dead. I'd rather not shatter that illusion until we're ready. I want Snape brought to me in secret and alive, not murdered by one side or the other on the way."

Harry felt a mixture of emotions. "Why me?" he croaked, pulling out his handkerchief and mopping his nose again. "I'm obviously bottom choice as far as Snape's concerned. Why can't you go yourself?"

"I can't leave the Ministry at this juncture," said Kingsley. "I have far too many responsibilities here. Besides, my absence would be noticed by the very people we're hoping to avoid. Same with Minerva and Filius, at Hogwarts. Now you, on the other hand –"

"OK, OK," Harry said, annoyed. "I'm completely unimportant, and nobody will even notice if I'm not here."

The silver doe gave a snort. Harry glared at her, half-expecting a Snapely sarcasm, but it was Kingsley who spoke.

"You're just being silly, Harry. Go and see our mediwitch and get something for that cold. And tell her I'm ordering you to take a fortnight's sick leave."

"I'm not _that_ ill – oh." Harry belatedly realised what Kingsley meant. "Oh, all right. I'll do my best." He got up.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Kingsley asked, with a nod towards Snape's Patronus.

"Uh, yeah. Right." Harry pulled out his wand and summoned up his most recent happy memory: a no-strings shag with a young Muggle man he'd met in a gay bar. " _Expecto Patronum_!"

The silver stag erupted from his wand, caught sight of the silver doe, and sidled up to her. She looked at him from under her long lashes. Harry could have sworn that she winked.

"Give him your message." Kingsley sounded amused.

Harry closed his mouth, which had fallen open at the byplay between the Patronuses, and thought for a moment. Then he pointed his wand at the stag and said, "Tell Severus Snape that Harry Potter will escort him safely to Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Stag and doe promptly disappeared.

*

Harry fidgeted around his bedroom, pulling open drawers and flinging random items of clothing onto the bed. There was as yet no sign of either stag or doe Patronus to lead him to Snape's hiding place, but there was no harm in being prepared.

 _He's probably in the Outer Hebrides, or somewhere equally cold and remote,_ Harry thought, picking up a woolly jumper knitted by Mrs Weasley a couple of Christmases ago, before he and Ginny broke up. Shrugging, he stuffed it into his backpack. Molly was just about speaking to him again now. Maybe the fact that Ginny had started seeing Blaise Zabini had softened her attitude towards him.

 _I should never have got engaged to her in the first place. Let's face it, making out with her was just – boring – compared to the charge I get from encounters in gay bars._ Harry gave a reminiscent smirk at the thought of the most recent of these encounters, then shrugged. Better get on with the packing.

He fished a heavy pair of walking boots out from under the bed and paused, weighing them in his hand. Would he need to do much rough walking, or could he Apparate close to Snape's hiding place? Kingsley hadn't seemed to know much; all he'd said was that Snape was holed up somewhere safe. He'd been looked after by Winky the house-elf while he recovered from the wound inflicted by Nagini, and as far as Kingsley knew she was still with him, five years on.

Harry had a momentary vision of Winky and Snape sitting every night, glumly silent, at either side of a meagre fire in some remote Scottish croft, drinking Butterbeer and Firewhisky respectively, till they fell off their chairs... He grinned, then yawned. Glancing at his watch, he realised it was getting late. Snape's silver doe was unlikely to turn up now; he'd better get some sleep. He went into his bathroom and picked up the new bottle of Pepper-Up potion the Ministry's mediwitch had given him. Might as well take a dose before he went to bed.

Gasping and wheezing, steam shooting out of his ears, Harry turned from the bathroom basin and froze. Standing in the doorway was the silver doe. It spoke urgently, in Snape's voice. "Potter. Follow my Patronus at once. There's no time to lose."

Dashing into his bedroom, Harry just had time to snatch up his half-packed backpack before following the swiftly moving Patronus down the stairs and out into the rainy night.

*

Harry sat, chest heaving, coughing feebly, on an outcrop of rock. Sleet lashed at his face. He was chilled, uncomfortable, his jeans sopping and muddy from stumbling into a bog. The doe had, somehow, Apparated him from London to this godforsaken place, led him across treacherous ground, his only light its silvery glimmer, and then – disappeared.

Why? Where had it gone? What was he supposed to do now? Where the hell was Snape?

It was getting increasingly painful to breathe; Harry felt as if his lungs were being scored by knives with every inhalation. He groaned, fumbled in his backpack for his Pepper-Up potion, swore.

He'd left it in his bathroom, back in London.

*

Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky at last when Harry woke from an uneasy, feverish doze. He squinted round at his surroundings. The grey rocky outcrop where he huddled uncomfortably, head pillowed on his backpack, was the only solid looking thing in a sea of frost-caked mud. Here and there clumps of blighted reeds projected stiffly from the bog. Above him loomed the long summit of a mountain. Where was he? Somewhere in the Highlands?

Stiff and aching, Harry sat up and groped for his wand. Then he paused. Were Snape's enemies nearby? That might be why the doe had disappeared so suddenly. He daren't use magic for fear of revealing himself to any wizarding watchers – but on the other hand, if he didn't do something soon, he was going to freeze. It wouldn't do Snape's cause any good if he died of exposure on some Scottish mountain.

Harry managed to fumble the straps on his backpack open with cold, awkward fingers. He fished out Mrs Weasley's sweater, wrapped it round his chest, and was immediately seized by a painful fit of coughing. Afterwards he hunched up, wheezing, eyes streaming. This was no good. He'd have to use magic soon. He pulled off his glasses and clumsily wiped them on a sleeve of the sweater, then put them back on and squinted at his wristwatch. He'd give Snape another hour. He squirmed himself into as comfortable a position as possible, hands pressed against his body for warmth, and closed his eyes.

The hour was nearly up when Harry felt a gentle tug on his arm. He forced his eyes open and nearly shouted in surprise. A house-elf stood beside him, big brown eyes gazing into his. Big brown eyes – nose like a squashed tomato – Kingsley's words came back to Harry. _Winky nursed Snape after Nagini's attack. As far as we know, she's still with him; she certainly didn't come back to Hogwarts._

"Winky?" he croaked.

The house-elf nodded, glanced round fearfully, and put her finger to her lips. Then she tugged at his arm again.

Harry clambered to his feet and wearily stumbled after her. Winky led him along winding paths through the bog for what seemed like hours to Harry. Eventually they came out onto a rough track which they followed past the remains of tumbledown buildings, until it disappeared into the hillside. This scene seemed familiar, but Harry couldn't get enough of a grasp on his wandering, feverish thoughts to understand why.

He followed Winky inside the most intact of the ruins. There, leaning against the slate wall, exuding an air of jittery menace, was Severus Snape.

Harry's knees gave way and he collapsed onto the ground at Snape's feet.

*

When he came round, he was lying beside the embers of a small fire. Snape must have been through Harry's backpack, because Harry was now wrapped in all the spare clothes he'd brought, plus a black T-shirt of Snape's.

Snape was pacing backwards and forwards, obviously in mid-rant.

"– Kingsley thinking of, sending a sick man – we need all our wits about us to reach him safely – there's _obviously_ a traitor in the Ministry, why else would I have been attacked last night? – lucky to get away – and _now_ ," he regarded Harry with loathing, "I've nowhere to hide, and I have to tend _you_ into the bargain."

"Not my fault," Harry croaked. "Your doe shouldn't have abandoned me in the middle of the night on a freezing Scottish hillside –"

Snape shrugged. "I had to stop using magic, my magical signature is being tracked – another indication that the bloody Ministry's involved somehow –" He scowled at Harry. "Anyway, what the hell do you mean, Scotland? We're in Wales!"

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed. _Now_ he realised why this place had seemed so familiar. "This is one of the old Plynlimon mine workings, isn't it?"

"How do you know that?"

"I came here last summer with my cousin Dudley. He married a Welsh girl, they live in a little village near Aberystwyth." He pressed his fingers to his aching forehead. "You want somewhere for us to hide, try him."

Snape looked at Harry with a peculiar expression. "I don't believe this," he said. "The luck of the bloody Potters. Baffles me every time."

Harry wheezed a laugh, then was wracked by another bout of coughing. When he'd recovered, he began fumbling in the inside pocket of his jacket. "Yeah, good old Dudley," he gasped. "He'll hide us till I'm well. I'll just –"

"You're not to use your wand!" Snape snapped. "For all I know, they're tracking you, too. The timing's highly suspicious – Kingsley tells you to find me, and I immediately get attacked –"

"Not my wand," Harry mumbled. Merlin, Snape certainly hadn't mellowed in the five years since he'd last seen him. "This." And he pulled out his mobile phone.

He was seized by uncontrollable shivering as he tried to tap the keys; his hands shook so much he nearly dropped the phone. "D-d-damn. H-have you g-got any P-Pepper-Up –?"

Snape shook his head. "No, but have some of this." He pulled out a hip flask, unscrewed the top, and helped Harry take a swig.

"Aaaah," Harry sighed, as the fiery liquid burned a path down to his stomach. He felt suddenly warmer, lighter. "Firewhisky?"

"Muggle brandy," Snape said, wiping the top of the flask with his hand before taking a swig himself.

For the first time, Harry took in properly that Snape was dressed as a Muggle: faded denims, a battered black leather jacket, heavy boots. His black hair was pulled back into a tail, and he was unshaven, with silvery glints among the dark stubble. He looked both disreputable and dangerous. Harry couldn't take his eyes off him.

"When you've _quite_ finished gawping," Snape growled irritably, "and if it's not too much _trouble_ , maybe you could contact your cousin?"

"Uh, yeah." Harry fumbled with the phone, tapped out a quick text message, hit _send_. "Damn."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"No signal." Harry tried to struggle to his feet. "Better try outside – oops!" He staggered, amazed by how weak he felt.

"Give it to me," Snape said, holding out his hand.

"Do you –"

"I've been living as a Muggle for most of the last two years, Potter, I know how a mobile phone works."

*

After Snape had gone, Winky fussed around Harry so solicitously that he revised his opinion of who had raided his backpack for warm clothes to wrap round him. Winky eased off Harry's mud-caked trainers and sopping wet socks, produced another black T-shirt from Snape's rucksack, dried Harry's feet on it, then wrapped it around a hot stone she'd pulled from the dying embers of the fire.

"Harry Potter must warm his feet," she said, holding out her improvised hot water bottle substitute. Harry took it gratefully and pressed his bare feet against it. Even with the insulation of several thicknesses of T-shirt, it was almost too hot to touch. Winky's fingers must be fireproof.

Winky, meanwhile, delved into Snape's rucksack again and produced a pair of black silk socks. Harry pulled them on, regretting the thick woollen socks and sturdy walking boots he'd left behind in London. Winky picked up a sliver of broken slate from the ground and began scraping the mud from his trainers.

When Snape got back, Harry was sitting huddled under an old cloak (also appropriated by Winky from Snape's belongings), his sock-clad feet pressed to the hot rock. Snape's lips thinned, but he didn't comment. He held Harry's mobile out to him.

Harry took it and looked at the screen. Ah, good, Snape must have managed to find a signal. And Dudley had replied! Things were looking up.

"B @ Elvis rock in 1/2 hr," he read.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry grinned. "It's this rock by the side of the main road with ELVIS painted on it in big letters."

"Ah. And how far is this?"

"Er – not too far. Don't remember exactly. We need to follow the track downhill until we come out on the road."

"We had better leave at once," Snape decided. He looked Harry up and down with an irritated air. "Get packed. And put your shoes back on, I refuse to carry you down the mountainside."

He beckoned Winky outside; Harry could hear him giving her instructions, his voice too low for Harry to make out many words. He wiped his face wearily. From being cold and shivering he was now hot and sweaty, and very, very tired. It seemed to take forever to get his trainers on, stuff his backpack with his spare clothes, plus Snape's cloak and now-singed T-shirt, and struggle to his feet. Snape came in, took one look at him, and handed over his hip flask. Harry managed a swallow, choked, and struggled to stop himself coughing. Snape took the flask back, drained it, and slipped it into his pocket. Then he stamped out the embers of the fire, swung his own rucksack over one shoulder, Harry's backpack over the other, and gave Harry an exasperated look.

"Are you well enough to walk?"

"Yeah, I'll manage," Harry said, following Snape out of the tumbledown building and onto the track. There was no sign of the house-elf. "Isn't Winky coming?"

"Winky is performing some errands," Snape said. "Follow me."

They set off down the track. About five minutes later, an icy downpour hit them, drenching Harry to the skin. He stumbled miserably downhill after Snape, slipping and sliding on the wet ground. The comforting warmth of the brandy was all gone.

Aching and half delirious, Harry fell into an automatic trot. Time became disjointed; he only realised he had, in fact, stopped moving when strong arms pulled him to his feet and he was bundled into the warmth of Dudley's car. He vaguely heard his cousin exclaiming, then Snape's voice by his ear, "No, you can't take him to a doctor – must keep hidden until –"

The voices faded out; Harry was content to lie sprawled across someone – Snape? – on the back seat as the car swerved in a U turn and they sped off down the road. All too soon the car stopped and a blast of cold air hit Harry as the doors were opened. He clambered awkwardly out, staggered a few steps and collapsed on Dudley's front path.

He felt himself being lifted and carried, encircled by Snape's arms. As they approached the house the front door opened and a woman stepped out to meet them. Harry felt the arms tighten around him and deep, faintly mocking tones reverberate against his chest as Snape spoke.

"Why, Petunia. How... _nice_ to see you again. After all these years."

*

"Hope you'll be OK, Harry." Dudley's wife said worriedly, as she helped him get into bed.

He managed a smile for her. "Fine, Lynne, thanks."

"Here's something for your cough, anyway," she said, pouring out a teaspoonful of viscous liquid and holding it to his lips.

Harry swallowed meekly.

"I said you should see a doctor, but your Mr Snape says it wouldn't be safe for anyone to know you two are here. He's going to look after you himself. He's sent his house-elf off for potions ingredients."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yes, I know all about it," Lynne said impatiently, "my own mam was a witch. She was most disappointed none of us kids took after her."

"Oh! You've never said..."

"Yes, well, I keep it quiet, see? Dudley's mam doesn't approve of all that." Lynne sniffed. "Mind, there's a lot she doesn't approve of. She came to stay with us just after little Rheannon was born, to 'help' she said, and we can't get rid of her."

She bustled around the bedroom, tidying things away into drawers and cupboards.

"There's more spare things of Dudley's in here if you need them – " Harry was currently wearing a baggy blue T shirt and striped boxers his cousin had lent him – "and I'll just make up the put-you-up for Mr Snape."

She disappeared onto the landing for a moment and came back with an armful of bedding, still talking.

"... hope you don't mind sharing the room with him. We've only the three bedrooms, see. Dudley's mam's through there –" she jerked her head towards the wall behind the headboard of Harry's bed, "and we've put little Rheannon's cot in with me and Dudley, across the landing."

"Ah," Harry croaked. How did he feel about sharing a bedroom with Severus Snape? To be honest, at the moment he felt too ill to care.

He slipped into an uneasy doze.

Harry woke later – much later, judging by the dark room. He heard the faint murmur of voices then the bedroom door opened and the light clicked on. He heaved himself up on the pillows, blinking and squinting at the blurry shape looming over him.

"Drink," came Snape's voice, ragged with tension or tiredness, and a large, smoking wineglass was shoved under Harry's nose.

A large, smoking, _stinking_ wineglass. Harry automatically recoiled.

"I've been up half the night brewing this for you, Potter, now fucking DRINK IT!"

Harry took the glass, gulped, and nearly spat it out. The potion tasted as vile as it smelled. Apparently making it palatable hadn't been high on Snape's list of priorities. However, even with his poor eyesight he couldn't miss the murderous flexing of Snape's hands. Drink the potion or be strangled, right. He choked the rest of it down.

*

 _Snape's potion might have smelt and tasted foul,_ Harry thought lazily, coming slowly awake the next morning, _but it gave me the best night's sleep I've had in weeks. And I feel –_ he stretched and took an experimental deep breath – _great!_

He stretched out a hand, groped on the bedside table until he found his spectacles, and put them on. The room came into focus in the soft morning light streaming through the thin curtains, and Harry looked over at the put-you-up which Dudley had wedged into the space between the wardrobe and a chest of drawers. All he could see of Snape was a snarl of black hair protruding from a huddle of blankets.

He slid out of bed and began rummaging in the drawer where Lynne had told him he could find some spare clothes. Pulling on an old pair of Dudley's faded blue jeans, thick woollen socks and a very roomy sweater, Harry reflected that this was quite like the old days at Privet Drive, when the only clothes he had were his cousin's cast-offs.

Especially since Aunt Petunia was here. That unwelcome thought damped Harry's spirits a little, but not too much; Aunt Petunia might be here, but Uncle Vernon wasn't. Dudley had turned out to be OK, he was sure Dudley wouldn't join in Aunt Petunia's little games any more. And then there was Snape... Harry looked consideringly at the still form under the bedclothes at his feet. From what he'd seen in Snape's memories, there'd been no love lost between him and Petunia in their childhood.

Suddenly the bedclothes heaved and Snape, as if some sixth sense had alerted him to Harry's gaze, shot upright, hand groping under his pillow. Harry froze, expecting a hex at least. His own wand was safely hidden out of temptation's way; not so Snape's, apparently. But Snape's slitted eyes seemed to take in that Harry was no threat.

The next moment he'd slid back beneath the blankets, asleep once more. Had he even been awake, or was he reacting automatically? Shaken, Harry tiptoed thoughtfully out of the room and closed the door.

Downstairs in the kitchen, he found Dudley, Lynne and Aunt Petunia sitting round the table having their breakfast. Baby Rheannon chortled and gurgled in her cradle, which was being rocked by –

"Winky!" exclaimed Harry. "Good to see you back safely."

Dudley looked up at the sound of Harry's voice, grinned, and waved a piece of toast at him while he swallowed his mouthful of bacon and eggs. "Harry!" he said, as soon as he could speak. "Great to see you looking better. We thought you were going down with pneumonia."

"Come and sit down, Harry, and I'll get you something to eat," said Lynne.

Aunt Petunia thinned her already thin lips even more, and glared at him frostily.

Ignoring her, Harry came and sat at the table. Lynne smiled at him. "Dudley's right, you _are_ looking better. Would you like some bacon and eggs?"

"No, just toast, thanks," Harry said, taking a slice and buttering it thickly. "I guess we'd better be off as soon as Snape's awake."

"Oh no, Severus said it would be better to wait a day or two, get your strength back," said Lynne.

 _So it's Severus, now, is it?_ thought Harry. Wondering why he felt so annoyed, he said aloud, "But I thought he was dead keen to get to Kingsley Shacklebolt!"

"I am," came a deep voice from behind him, "but since I'm now convinced you have a traitor at the Ministry, we need to plan our approach very carefully."

Snape came into the room, pulled out the empty chair beside Aunt Petunia and sat down. Petunia drew back as if a rattlesnake had just slithered onto the chair next to her. Snape smiled at her nastily.

"Surely you don't object to our presence in your son's house, Petunia?"

"I certainly do!" she hissed. "You've been nothing but trouble to my family. My poor sister – "

Snape's face closed. Remembering what he'd seen in Snape's memories, Harry hurried into speech. "Maybe we should leave soon, Snape."

Snape looked across the table at Harry for a long moment, then, to Harry's surprise, he smiled. "Call me Severus," he purred. Then, with a sidelong look at Petunia, "after all, your mother did."

Petunia's mouth opened in outrage.

"As for leaving soon.... _Harry_ ," Snape went on smoothly,"I want to make sure you are fully fit before we go. We don't know what dangers we may encounter." His voice lowered seductively. "Your well-being is important to me, you know."

Harry looked at him consideringly. Snape was obviously trying to wind up Aunt Petunia – and succeeding, from the look on her face – but that aside, there was no denying that he looked dangerously attractive in his Muggle persona. In fact, Harry was reminded so strongly of some of the guys from the gay bar that he felt his cock hardening. With his three-day stubble, tight black T-shirt and edgy smile, Snape only needed a silver earring to be a dead ringer for Jed. And if his hair was shorter, he'd be so like Rob. Or, if he had a stud through his nostril, he'd be – _oh_.

As Lynne fussed over Snape, pouring him coffee and offering him breakfast, Harry leaned back in his chair, stunned by the realisation that all the guys he found most attractive at the gay bar – _had reminded him of Snape_.

*

It was late morning. Dudley had gone off to work, giving Lynne and Aunt Petunia a lift into Aberystwyth on the way so they could do some shopping. Snape was in the kitchen brewing more potions, assisted by Winky. Which left Harry looking after the baby.

Who was wailing. Loudly.

Harry crouched by Rheannon's cradle, shaking a rattle in a vain attempt to distract her. She cried more loudly than ever, her little face screwed up and an alarming bright red colour. Above the din, Harry heard Snape shouting at Winky to "go in there and stop that damned noise!"

The house-elf hurried into the sitting room and stooped by the cradle. Rheannon waved her tiny fists in the air and shrieked.

"I don't know what's the matter with her!" Harry yelled. "Lynne fed her before she went, and changed her nappy!"

A blessed silence fell as the house-elf picked up the baby and rocked her in her arms.

"Wow, thanks, Winky!" Harry said. "What's your secret?"

"Winky cuddles her. Babies like being cuddled," Winky said. "Harry Potter should try holding her."

But when Harry tried to take Rheannon from her, the baby immediately began crying again.

"I think you'd better look after her for a bit, Winky," said Harry, "you're obviously better at it that I am."

"But Professor Snape needs Winky in the kitchen!" protested the house-elf, her big brown eyes alarmed.

"Don't worry, _I'll_ help him," said Harry, smoothing down his hair and sauntering into the kitchen.

Snape greeted him with a raised eyebrow and a gesture towards a chopping board filled with half-chopped daisy roots. Harry picked up the knife lying across the board and started cutting up the rest. Snape turned back to the stove and stirred the large pot simmering over a low flame.

"What are we making?" asked Harry.

" _I_ am making a Nourishing Nostrum. A three day course. I need to be sure you are at the peak of fitness before we risk leaving here." Snape eyed Harry's handiwork and sniffed. "Chop them _finely_ , Potter!"

"Oh, I'm _Potter_ again am I, now Aunt Petunia's not here for you to annoy," grumbled Harry, chopping viciously at the roots.

Snape smirked. "My apologies, _Harry_ ," he purred. "It must be the sight of your inept attempts at potion making which brings your schooldays so irresistibly to mind."

Harry grinned. "Huh, I'll have you know that I did OK in sixth year Potions. Professor Slughorn thought so, anyway."

"Because you stole my old copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ with all my notes," snapped Snape. He picked up a small bottle from the counter, shook it viciously, and poured the contents into his mixture. A cloud of purple steam shot up. Snape waved it away irritably. "Hurry up with those roots."

His eyes fixed on the chopping board, Harry said quietly, "I learnt a lot from that book."

Snape said nothing.

"I got a bit obsessed with the Half-Blood Prince that year, you know? Hermione even accused me of fancying him..."

He looked up from the chopping board at last, and met Snape's eyes. Silence stretched between them. At last Snape started to speak, his voice a low, menacing growl which sent shivers through Harry. "Potter, I won't..."

But whatever he was about to say was lost as the back door suddenly opened and Lynne came in on a waft of chilly air, carrying laden shopping bags and calling cheerfully, "Yoo-hoo! I'm back! Dudley's mam's coming on the next bus. How's Rheannon been?"

Snape turned back to stirring the pot, his posture full of tension. It was left to Harry to swallow his disappointment and say brightly, "She's fine, Lynne, Winky's with her."

"I'll go and play with her when I've done this," Lynne said, bustling about putting her groceries away, "and you can have your house-elf back to help you, Severus," she added, giving Harry a smile as she left the kitchen.

Harry went back to chopping daisy roots, wondering what Snape had been about to say when Lynne had interrupted them.

 _Potter, I won't..._ – what?  
 _... stand for any more of your bloody cheek..._ – probably.  
 _... whinge on about that old textbook any more..._ – unlikely.  
 _... bugger about, get your kit off NOW..._ – I WISH.

Harry finished his task and carefully carried the chopping board over to Snape. _Maybe I should just ask him._

He held the board out and began, "Severus, what – ?"

"Not _now_ , Potter," Snape growled, taking the board from him and tipping the roots into the steaming potion. "This is a very delicate stage, as you'd know if you had any _real_ interest in potions, rather than just _plagiarising my textbook notes_."

Harry stood, quietly fuming, wondering whether to hit him or just sweep out in a dignified silence. Deciding on the latter, he stalked across the kitchen, where Winky spoiled his exit by hurrying in, colliding with him in the doorway.

"Winky can help Professor Snape again, now," she squeaked, as Harry helped her to her feet.

"Ah, thank you, Winky," Snape said, taking the wooden spoon out of the pot and laying it carelessly on the draining board. "I'll show you what needs preparing next."

"Delicate stage, huh?" Harry said nastily, eyeing the discarded spoon.

"Stir the potion until I'm ready to come back to it, then," Snape said, an evil glint in his eye. "Six and three quarter stirs in a figure-of-eight motion clockwise, pause for _exactly_ four and a half seconds, three and a quarter turns anticlockwise. Repeat."

"Oh yeah, and the rest," Harry muttered under his breath, picking up the spoon and staring gloomily into the depths of the potion.

Suddenly Snape was behind him, pressing up against the full length of his body, reaching round him and grasping the hand that held the spoon. "Like _this_ , Harry," he purred, guiding Harry's hand in a complex motion around the pot and breathing hotly into his ear.

"What the – ?" Harry gasped. He looked up and found himself staring into the horrified face of Aunt Petunia, who had just come in through the back door.

Snape ground his groin against Harry's buttocks, and sniggered nastily.

"Well, really!" gasped Petunia, hastily retreating from the kitchen. Snape promptly released Harry and went back to laying out ingredients for Winky to prepare.

Harry went on stirring automatically, trying to come to terms with what had happened. He couldn't decide which he wanted to do more – punch Snape in the face, or shag him on the kitchen table: he hadn't felt so horny since his teens.

*

As the day wore on Snape continued to blow hot and cold: flirting with Harry whenever Aunt Petunia was present, ignoring him when she wasn't. Harry was in an agonising state of sexual frustration. He was thankful that the jeans he'd borrowed from his cousin were so loose, it meant his erection wasn't quite so obvious to everyone. But, from the knowing looks Snape directed at his crotch from time to time, it was perfectly obvious to _him_.

In the evening Winky helped Lynne put Rheannon to bed and then the five adults played Scrabble. After the first round (which she lost) Aunt Petunia sniffed that it was a stupid game, and retired to the sofa to read _Good Housekeeping_. Harry's erection wasn't helped by the fact that almost every word Snape placed on the board was suggestive. How was he doing it? He couldn't be using magic to give him the letters he needed. Unless the words were actually perfectly innocent, and it was Harry's state of unrequited lust which made him see innuendoes which didn't exist.

 _Er, no. Or not entirely,_ he thought, as Snape laid his tiles one by one on the table, gleefully spelling aloud "S-P-U-N-K." As Harry took in his accompanying look towards Petunia, he thought he could see in Snape's face the obnoxious teenager he must once have been, delighting in putting down his friend Lily's tiresome sister.

*

The game ended at last, in a draw between Snape and Lynne.

"You _are_ good with words, Severus," Lynne said approvingly. She exchanged her seat at the table for a more comfortable armchair and picked up a folded newspaper. "Maybe you can help me finish the crossword." She smiled at him, then at Harry. "You too, if you like."

"Sure!" Harry said, leaving the table and joining Aunt Petunia on the sofa. Aunt Petunia sniffed and moved as far away from him as she could.

"Got anything I can write with, love?" Lynne asked Dudley, who had sprawled in the other armchair and looked half asleep already.

"Mmm? Oh, yes. Here." He pulled a pencil out of his pocket and tossed it to Lynne, who caught it deftly and raised her eyebrows at Snape.

Snape stood up and contemplated Harry and Petunia for a moment, his lip lifting in a faint sneer. Then he glanced at Lynne, who was leaning forward expectantly, pencil poised over her crossword.

"If you wish," he said, and sat between Harry and Petunia on the sofa. Petunia shrank even further into her corner, trying to avoid the contamination of his touch. Harry was very aware of Snape's body, so close but not quite touching him. He suppressed a shiver.

Lynne frowned down at the partly-completed crossword on her lap and read out, " _Two girls heard from the Lizard?_ – blank A blank A six blanks."

"Salamander," Snape said promptly.

Lynne looked puzzled, then her face cleared. "Oh, of course!" she murmured, scribbling busily. "Sal, Amanda – salamander. Thank you, Severus." She looked at the crossword grid for a moment. "Well, that gives us another letter in 28 across. Try this one. _Most unorthodox love until now_ – H blank R three blanks."

Snape smirked and edged fractionally closer to Harry so their thighs just brushed. "Mmm," he said, " _Harry's_ would fit."

Harry felt as if his face was on fire. "Unngh," was all he could manage.

Aunt Petunia drew in her breath with a little hissing sound and pressed her bony fingers to her lips.

Lynne laughed. "Don't be silly, Severus. Let's see... there's another letter we could get for it... try this. _Dated lad with hot turns_ , two three-letter words."

Harry gulped. This was worse than the Scrabble game!

"Turns, turns," Lynne mused, "might mean it's an anagram – six letters altogether – anagram of _lad_ and _hot_ maybe?"

"Dated... hot lad..." Snape said thoughtfully. Harry felt an increased pressure against his thigh, and bit his lip. Hell, he was going to come in his pants if Snape kept this up.

"Old hat," Snape announced briskly, moving his leg away from Harry's. Harry blinked, feeling suddenly bereft.

"Oh, _that_ sort of dated," Lynne said, looking enlightened. She filled the letters into their squares. "That gives a T as next to last letter in the _unorthodox love_ one. Hmm, _hereto_ maybe? Don't really see why, though..."

"So not _Harry's_ after all," Snape said. "Such a shame."

"Oh well, let's try another one," said Lynne. " _Not talking German must upset Monsieur._ Five letters."

"Stumm," Snape said. "Anagram of _must_ and M for Monsieur."

"Great!" Lynne said, filling it in. "That gives me another letter for... mmm... this one's been bothering me... _Seafaring couple slept unattached: why so peculiar?_... six words altogether... total of twenty letters... hmm, maybe it's an anagram of _slept unattached why so_?" She began scribbling busily in the margin of her newspaper, muttering to herself, "Seafaring couple... seafaring couple...."

Snape pressed his thigh against Harry's again and murmured something indistinct. Surely it couldn't have been _hello sailor_?

Lynne didn't seem to be having much luck with her crossword clue; she groaned in exasperation and tugged at her hair. Dudley opened an eye and said, "Why don't you use that anagram solver I gave you, love?"

"Ah, brilliant!" Lynne said, searching among a pile of magazines and old newspapers, and eventually coming up with a black gadget with tiny keyboard and screen. She busily tapped in the words _slept unattached why so_ and pressed _enter_.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"It's this anagram solver Dudley gave me for my birthday. You put in the words you want to find the anagrams of, and it rearranges them into lots of possibilities." She laughed. "You magical types can probably do it with the wave of a wand."

Harry remembered Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets, doing just that: he'd written TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE in the air with Harry's wand, then rearranged it into I AM LORD VOLDEMORT. He shuddered unhappily at the thought.

Snape nudged his knee insistently at Harry's until Harry looked at him, then mouthed "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry mouthed back, trying to pull his leg away. He felt Snape's hand brush reassuringly across the nape of his neck, and shivered.

"Yes!" Lynne said happily, looking up from the tiny screen. "It's an anagram of – the owl and the pussy cat!"

Snape took his hand away from Harry's neck and mimed a slow motion clap, inclining his head in her direction. Then he put his hand on Harry's knee and murmured, "The owl and the pussycat, what an... _ill-assorted_ couple. Almost as bad as... say.... you and me?"

Aunt Petunia stared in horror as Snape's hand slid slowly towards Harry's groin. At last she could stand it no longer and leapt up from the sofa. With mock courtesy, Snape also stood.

"Off to bed, Petunia?" he purred. "What a _good_ idea. I think Harry and I should follow your example." With this he leered at Harry, and held out his hand.

 _Right,_ Harry thought, _you may not really mean it, but I'm damn well calling your bluff_. He jumped up and slung his arm around Snape's shoulders, carolling merrily, "Why, Severus, I thought you'd never ask!"

He felt Snape tense, as if about to shrug him off, heard him hiss "What are you playing at, Potter?"

"Same game as you, apparently," Harry muttered back. "Come on."

He waved cheerfully to Dudley and Lynne, who were looking rather bemused, and towed Snape upstairs. On the landing they almost collided with Aunt Petunia, coming out of the bathroom. She and Snape stood face to face for a moment, neither giving way, then Snape stood back, gesturing for Harry to go into the bathroom.

"Get yourself... _ready_ ," he purred. "I'll be waiting for you... in bed. Be sure to wash out that tight little arse of yours, we'd better not risk using magic."

Harry grinned cheekily. "My pleasure, Severus." Idly wondering what experience Snape could possibly have with sexual cleansing and lubrication spells, he added, "Oh, what are we going to use for lube, then?"

Snape put his long forefinger to his lips in mock thoughtfulness. "Hmm... perhaps your aunt would lend us her jar of hand cream?"

Petunia gave them a look of the utmost disgust and swept into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Snape stood eyeing the closed door for a long, thoughtful moment, before going into the room he shared with Harry, a faint smile twitching his lips.

In the bathroom, Harry grinned to himself as he finished a thorough cleansing of his body. If Snape thought he was getting away without making good on his insincere flirting, he was in for a surprise. Harry intended to see to that.

But when he finally walked into the bedroom, it was Harry who was surprised. Snape was on the bed, propped up against the headboard, completely naked, slowly and deliberately stroking his half-hard cock. He eyed Harry up and down, and smirked. Harry had discarded T-shirt and boxers in the laundry basket, and was wearing just a skimpy towel wrapped round his middle.

Harry swallowed hard, and held out the jar of Vaseline he'd taken from the bathroom cabinet. "Since Aunt Petunia won't lend us her hand cream, I thought – ?"

"Ah. Excellent," purred Snape. "Put it on the bedside table and come here."

Feeling unexpectedly flustered, Harry did as he was told. Snape reached out, yanked the towel off, and stared at Harry's hard-on, lifting eagerly towards him.

"My, my," Snape said, running his hand lightly over Harry's cock and dabbling his forefinger in the precome which oozed freely from its head, "you _are_ raring to go, aren't you?"

He took a firmer grip and tugged Harry towards him by his shaft. Harry lost his balance and tumbled onto the bed, moaning loudly.

"On your knees, arse in the air," Snape commanded briskly, giving one last lingering tug and letting go.

"Don't forget the lube!" gasped Harry.

"Oh, I'm not going to fuck you yet," Snape said, "I'm going to make you beg for it first. I'm going to make you SCREAM."

He knelt behind Harry and slowly ran his hands over his arse. Harry moaned again and squirmed, trying to rub his erection against the bedding.

"None. Of. That!" snapped Snape, preceding each word with a sharp slap on Harry's buttocks. "You're not to come until I say. I want this to last." He bent his head and licked the red patch his hand had left on Harry's arse-cheek.

Then he ran his tongue agonisingly slowly towards Harry's pucker, and paused.

"Yes! Please! Lick me THERE!" Harry panted.

Again and again Snape circled the outside of Harry's arsehole, then blew lightly on the moist flesh before plunging his tongue inside for a thorough exploration.

 _Who'd have thought Snape would enjoy rimming?_ Harry thought bemusedly. _Nah, he's probably just checking I cleaned myself properly._

Then he felt a light kiss on his buttock cheek, and the bed dipped as Snape reached for the Vaseline. The next minute his slippery fingers were gently probing Harry's arse. He slowly and deliberately circled the sensitive flesh before thrusting his forefinger in deep to finger-fuck Harry's prostate, until Harry was keening desperately and again trying to grind his stiff and leaking cock against the bedcovers.

Snape pulled out his finger and hissed "Stop that!"

Harry reluctantly stilled and hissed back "Fuck me, then!"

"Not yet," said Snape, an odd note in his voice. "This is all about delayed gratification. Ask me again. _Loudly_." And he nudged his cock against Harry's entrance.

"YES!" Harry shouted, "FUCK ME! PLEASE! I WANT YOUR COCK UP MY ARSE!"

Loud knocking on the wall and outraged shrieks from Petunia in the next door bedroom were followed by Snape's hiss of satisfaction as he finally eased himself home, a millimetre at a time. Once he'd fully penetrated Harry he began to thrust steadily and hard, pounding Harry's head against the headboard with each stroke, forming a counterpoint to Petunia's angry bangs on the wall.

"You're STILL winding her up?" Harry gasped, not sure whether to be amused or indignant.

"Oh yes." There was a world of satisfaction in Snape's gasped words. "And – _you_ – are – going – to – _come_!" This was accompanied by such an assault on Harry's prostate and cock that Harry found himself obeying, with long, shuddering, and sticky spurts of spunk which Snape deftly caught in his hand.

Harry rolled over and blinked blearily up at him. Snape rocked back on his heels and began smearing Harry's come all over his own still rampant cock. There was now silence from the other side of the wall. Harry thought for a moment, then grinned. "Merlin, Snape, your cock is HUGE!" he said loudly. "You're bigger than those hot guys at the sex club. Stick it in me again!"

Renewed banging on the wall and a surprised snort of laughter from Snape were his reward.

*

The next morning Harry caught himself humming happily as he clattered down the stairs. His arse ached, yes, but it was a good, having had a thorough seeing-to, kind of an ache. The only fly in the ointment was that all that gorgeous, hot sex had been triggered by Severus' desire to score off Aunt Petunia. But surely that couldn't have been his only motivation: he'd gone on pleasuring Harry long after the irate bangs on their bedroom wall had stopped.

Although he had then retreated to the put-you-up before falling asleep.

Harry stopped humming and opened the kitchen door. Dudley and Lynne were sitting at the table eating their breakfast. They looked up as he came in, and Lynne gave him a big smile.

"Hello, Harry," she said, "I thought maybe you two had decided to move down the road to Llanddewi Brefi."

"Huh?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Well, Daffyd wouldn't be the only gay in the village, then," said Lynne.

"Er, sorry, still don't..."

"TV programme. Ignore her," Dudley muttered, through a mouthful of toast.

Harry shrugged and sat down. "Where's Aunt Petunia?" he asked, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

"She insisted on catching the first bus into Aberystwyth," Lynne told him. "Said she had something urgent to do. Dudley offered to take her on his way to work, but no, she had to go straight away."

"Reckon she's avoiding you, mate," Dudley said, with a grin at Harry.

"Not surprising, all that racket you made last night," Lynne added. "But she said she'd be back in time for lunch, more's the pity."

"No need to be like that, love," Dudley said reproachfully. "She can be a bit much at times, but she is my mum."

"Er, about last night," Harry said, feeling himself grow red. "Hope we didn't disturb you too much."

"Oh no, it was quite exciting," Lynne said. Harry was interested to see she was looking a bit pink, and suppressing giggles; Dudley coughed and avoided Harry's eyes. "And Rheannon slept through it all, fortunately."

"Where is Rheannon?" asked Harry.

"Winky's giving her a bath. I'll really miss Winky when you go. I don't suppose you'd lend her to us for a while, Severus?"

Harry's head whipped round; Severus was standing behind him in the kitchen doorway. How long had he been there?

"Winky is a free elf," Severus said. "It's her choice whom she serves."

"You treat her like your possession, though," Harry objected.

There was a brief flare of... something... in Severus' black eyes before his face became unreadable.

"That is what she prefers," he said, pulling out the chair next to Harry's, sitting down, and reaching for the orange juice. He looked sideways at Harry. "Have you taken your Nourishing Nostrum this morning?"

"Er, no," said Harry, disconcerted, "I thought the dose I had yesterday was it."

Severus tutted. "What part of _three day course_ didn't you understand..." He hesitated. Harry could almost hear the word "Potter" hanging on his lips, but he didn't say it. Neither did he say "Harry", though.

 _Maybe I should go first,_ thought Harry, and said aloud, "Sorry, _Severus_. I'll take some now." He started to get up, but Lynne waved at him to stay where he was.

"I'll get it for you, Harry. I put the bottle away in a cupboard. And I've some bacon keeping hot in the oven, would you like some?"

"Yes please, Lynne," Harry said enthusiastically. "I'm feeling much better this morning."

Dudley sniggered, then turned it into a cough when Severus glared at him. "Well, I'd better get off, or I'll be late for work," he said, draining his coffee cup and setting it down with a clatter on its saucer. "Bye, love," he added giving Lynne a quick hug on his way to the door. "See you all this evening."

"Bye love," Lynne said absently, taking the potion bottle down from a top shelf and putting it on the table beside Harry. "So when will you two be going, then? You're very welcome to stay as long as you like, of course, but..."

"Tomorrow, probably," Severus said. "I need Winky to check something out for me, first."

Harry added a dose of Nourishing Nostrum to the orange juice left in his glass, and swigged it down. "Mmm, this tastes better than that foul stuff you gave me when we first arrived, Severus."

"I hope this tastes good, too," Lynne chuckled, putting plates of bacon and eggs in front of Harry and Severus. "I'll just make some more toast and coffee for you, then I'll go upstairs to Rheannon and take over from Winky."

"Go now if you like," Harry said, "I'll do the toast and coffee."

"Oh, thanks," Lynne said. "I want to take her round to my friend's house this morning, she has a mother and baby group on Fridays."

The kitchen seemed very quiet after she'd gone. Harry stole a quick look at Severus, who was concentrating on eating his breakfast. Should he mention the previous night to him?

 _I didn't have this problem with any of the guys from the gay bar,_ Harry thought ruefully. _None of them STAYED for breakfast._

He finished his bacon and eggs and carried his empty plate over to the sink, pushed two slices of bread into the pop-up toaster, clicked on the electric kettle, and spooned ground coffee into the cafétière, all the while musing how strangely appealing it was to be in such a domestic situation with Severus. Harry would have given a great deal to know if Severus was thinking the same thing, or if last night had after all just been a means to an end for him, already forgotten.

*

As the morning wore on, Harry became more and more convinced that he'd been just a handy tool in Severus' war with Aunt Petunia. He and Severus were alone in the house; even Winky was out, having been despatched on some mysterious errand by Severus. Who was ignoring Harry completely, lost in some dark meditation of his own. Harry tried several times to talk to him, but was fended off by a blank look.

Bored, Harry picked up Lynne's anagram gadget and began fiddling with it. With a surreptitious glance at Severus, he tapped in _Severus Snape_ and then _enter_. Words began scrolling up the tiny screen.

"Wow, your name's got a lot of anagrams," Harry said. A couple caught his eye. "How about _perves anuses_?" At the look he got from Severus he went on, "No, more like _saves up sneer_!" And he burst out laughing.

"Just the sort of childish nonsense I'd expect you to find amusing," Severus said, his tone icy.

Harry didn't bother reading any more aloud, but the occasional snort he gave as he found a particularly apt one won him several irritated glares from Severus. At last he tired of his game, put the gadget down, and went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

He was searching the cupboards for a packet of biscuits when Winky materialised with a faint _pop_.

"Harry Potter should look in the biscuit tin," the house-elf remarked, tapping a long pointy finger on a silver tin before hurrying into the sitting room and beginning a low-voiced conversation with Severus. Harry lifted the lid to find a selection of chocolate biscuits inside. How did Winky know what he'd been looking for? House-elves really were wonderful.

As Harry was assembling a couple of mugs, teapot, milk, sugar and a plateful of biscuits on a tray, Aunt Petunia came in through the back door and gave him an oddly sly yet triumphant look. Harry added another mug to the tray and carried it into the sitting room.

"Elevenses!" he chirped, pouring out tea.

Aunt Petunia came in, put her bag down on the table, and peered into the mugs. "I don't take milk, surely you remember that?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said dutifully.

"I'm just going upstairs for a moment," Petunia added, "don't let that nasty creature touch my things."

Harry was unsure whether she meant Severus or Winky, her glare was directed in the general direction of them both. Winky shrank away, turning huge piteous eyes on Severus.

"Never mind her," Severus said. "You get off to Kingsley and warn him to expect us tomorrow. But only speak to him if he's alone, mind. Make sure nobody sees you."

"Winky will be very careful!" squeaked the house-elf, and vanished.

When Petunia came back into the room, looking smug, Severus leered at her and said to Harry, "Read out some of those interesting anagrams of my name for your aunt, would you?"

Wondering what it was about Petunia that turned Severus into an adolescent, Harry sighed and picked up Lynne's crossword-solving gadget.

" _Perves Anuses_ , I suppose you mean?" he said. "Or how about _Peens Versus A_? Hmm, doesn't say versus a what... wait, here's one that's really appropriate. _Even Sups Arse._ "

"That was certainly appropriate _last night_ ," Severus purred, coming to stand close behind Harry, looking over his shoulder at the tiny screen. "Try putting in the letters of _your_ name."

Harry typed in _Harry Potter_ and pressed _enter_. They both stared at the words scrolling up the screen.

"Oh, I like these," Severus said. " _Try Rapt Hero_ , yes. _Or Hyper Tart_ , even better. _Throat Pryer_ , ah that gives me an idea. Or how about _Port Thy Rear_?" He sniggered and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Shall we see what it comes up with for _Petunia Evans_?"

Aunt Petunia had turned white with fury. Her eyes glittered strangely as she pointed a shaking finger at Severus. "Laugh all you like, you horrible man. You won't be laughing soon. Not when they come to arrest you!"

Severus went very still. His fingers dug into Harry's shoulder.

"What do you mean, Aunt Petunia?" asked Harry, alarmed. "You haven't called the police, have you? Because Severus hasn't done anything wrong –"

"That's a matter of opinion," sniffed Petunia. "But no, not the police. I've called your own kind to deal with him, and they've got the place surrounded!"

"I don't believe you," Severus said. "No wizard would listen to a Muggle like you."

"Oh wouldn't they!" screeched Petunia. "I'll have you know, a nice young man from your Ministry of Magic visited me and Vernon years ago, when you were supposed to be dead. He didn't believe you really were, and neither did I. He said you were trying to evade justice, and gave me a number to call if I ever had any news of you." She fumbled in her bag, pulled out a card embossed with the Ministry of Magic crest with a name and telephone number underneath, and shoved it under Harry's nose.

"There! You work in that place too, don't you? You can tell this is genuine."

"Nat Barraserios," read out Harry. "Barraserios... Barraserios... yeah, I think he works in the Department of Mysteries." He slowly entered the name into the gadget in his hand to give himself time to think.

"And you needn't think you can magic your way out,"Aunt Petunia went on triumphantly, "because I found your wands when I was upstairs just now, and I've hidden them!"

"Wait," Severus said urgently, leaning over Harry's shoulder. "Scroll back. Let me see those first few anagrams."

" _Abstainers Roar_... _Abrasion Arrest_... _Arabs Tan Rosier_..." read out Harry. "Wait, Rosier? Sounds familiar."

"Just as I thought," Severus said grimly. "Not _Arabs Tan Rosier_ , Harry. _**Rabastan** Rosier_. Son of a Death Eater, named for his godfather, Rabastan Lestrange. No wonder he wants me dead."

Harry felt an icy shock. "What?"

"I – was close to his brother Evan. Very close. I met all his family. I'm probably the only one from those days who can identify Rabastan."

"Maybe the anagram's just a coincidence," Harry said hopefully. "What did this man look like, Aunt Petunia?"

Petunia fidgeted uneasily. "You're saying he could be a Dark Wizard? Nonsense! Why, he was so eager to protect my family. I told him where to find my granddaughter and daughter-in-law, and he said he'd make sure they were taken care of until Snape was safely behind bars..."

Severus strode forward and seized Petunia's bony wrist in a fierce grip. "You stupid woman," he hissed. "Protect them? You've just put them in _danger_."

"N-nonsense," she said, trying and failing to pull her arm away. "You are the danger to my family, Snape. You always have been."

"Tell me," he said grimly, "did this _nice young man_ of yours have a ragged scar on his wrist?"

Petunia's face turned pale, telling them both better than words that Severus was correct.

"I thought so," he said. "It may interest you to know, Petunia, that scar came from Fenrir Greyback – ah, I see you've heard of him – being a little too... playful, at one of Lord Voldemort's secret councils."

On hearing Voldemort's name, Petunia turned even paler. "Oh no," she whispered. "He can't be a Dark Wizard. He _can't_ be."

"Sounds like he is, Aunt Petunia," Harry said. "And I expect Voldemort gave him the idea of changing his name by anagram. Sort of an homage to his old master." He looked steadily at his aunt. "Tell me where you hid our wands."

Petunia stared back at him, her eyes wide and dark in her white face. "I – they're –"

A loud double knock at the front door interrupted her. She gave a frightened squeal, gasped, "That's him!"

And fainted.

*

Harry and Severus stared at each other over her prone form.

"What the hell are we going to do?" Harry said. "No wands... Lynne and Rheannon hostages..." An idea came to him. "Severus! Summon Winky and send her for help!"

"I can't," said Severus. "That particular elf magic doesn't work between us; she really is a free elf. She comes and goes as she pleases." His eyes narrowed as the hammering on the door became more insistent. "You, on the other hand, do have a house-elf bound to you. Your late godfather's bequest, along with the House of Black."

Harry's mouth fell open as he realised that Severus was right. Of course, Kreacher! He hadn't thought about him in years. He'd left him at Hogwarts, working in the kitchens with the other house-elves. He didn't even know if Kreacher was still alive. The knocking at the door had stopped; there was an ominous silence. Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and thought desperately "Kreacher! Come to me!"

With a crack! the house-elf tumbled from the air onto the rug at Harry's feet. But before Harry could give Kreacher any instructions, he heard the sound of the front door being unlocked and Lynne's voice, high and panicked, abruptly cut off. Hastily Harry pushed Kreacher out of sight behind an armchair and turned to face the trio of wizards entering the room.

Lynne was pushed ahead of them, at wand point, her door keys still in her hand. "I'm so sorry, Severus," she whispered. "I had to let them in. They said they'd kill her."

Then Harry saw that one of the wizards was holding Rheannon in the crook of one arm, his other hand holding a wand to her head. The other two had their wands trained on Severus and himself. One of them stepped forward.

"Well, Severus," he said. "It's been a long time."

"Rabastan," Severus acknowledged. "I see you didn't change your appearance as well as your name."

"What's he talking about, Nat?" one of the other wizards asked uneasily. Harry now recognised him as Manders, one of the more thuggish Aurors; Harry had never liked him, and knew the feeling was reciprocated, but he hated to think Manders was knowingly supporting a Dark Wizard.

"Whatever he's told you is lies," he said, looking Manders straight in the eyes. "His name isn't Barraserios, it's Rosier. He was in Lord Voldemort's inner council, that's why he wants Severus dead – so he can't testify against him."

Manders sneered back at him. "Know what, Potter? I don't really care. So long as you get brought down too, I'll be happy. Young whippersnapper. Kingsley Shacklebolt thinks the sun shines out of your arse, while us stalwarts of the department get overlooked."

"You won't _be_ in the department once Kingsley finds out about this," Harry snarled. "You'll be in Azkaban."

"He ain't going to find out, sonny," Manders snarled back.

Rosier gave him a quelling look. "You leave this to me. You two take the Muggles – this one, too," – he poked Aunt Petunia's unconscious body with his toe, "into another room, Obliviate them, and stay with them till I call you. I'll deal with Snape and Potter."

When they'd gone he concentrated his glare on Severus. The temperature in the room seemed suddenly to drop several degrees. "It's _you_ I'm concerned with," he hissed. " _You_ I've been watching for and waiting for all these years. The pervert who fucked my brother, Evan, then betrayed the lot of us. And now, at last, you're going to die. Resisting arrest." He spared a quick glance for Harry, and licked his lips. "And what a _shame_ if the great Harry Potter accidentally gets killed in the process."

Severus took a few casual steps away from Harry and folded his arms. "Know what, Rabastan? Your brother was a little tart. He begged me for it. Me and the rest of the Slytherin dormitory."

The wand shook in Rabastan Rosier's hand. "Filthy liar!"

Harry judged the distance between himself and Rosier. No chance of reaching him before he cast an Unforgivable. But while his attention was fixed on Severus, maybe Harry could whisper instructions to Kreacher to fetch help. He edged cautiously towards the back of the armchair.

Kreacher had disappeared.

*

In the kitchen, Lynne watched the two strangers float her mother-in-law across the room and dump her unceremoniously on the floor by the back door. As they manoeuvred past, she seized the arm of the one holding Rheannon.

"Give me my baby!"

He swore, and gave her a violent push. "Keep back, you bitch!"

Rheannon, who up till then had been peacefully asleep, suddenly startled awake and began to scream loudly. The second man – the one Harry had called Manders – pointed his wand at her and shouted " _Stupefy_!"

The baby immediately went limp in her captor's grasp. He looked uneasily at Manders. "Did you have to –" he began, but was interrupted by Lynne hurling herself at him and snatching Rheannon away.

"Murderers!" she shrieked.

"Shut up, bitch," snarled Manders. "She ain't dead. Now back off."

He moved menacingly towards her, wand raised.

*

"You can watch your boyfriend getting what he deserves," Rosier panted, binding Harry tightly to a chair with a muttered _Incarcerous_. He turned back to Severus, hatred blazing in his eyes.

" _Avada Kedavra_ 's too quick for you, traitor! _Crucio!_ "

Severus doubled up, gasping in agony.

" _Crucio!_ "

He was on the floor, writhing.

" _Crucio!_ "

Harry strained at the thin ropes holding him in place, but to no avail. He must distract Rosier somehow, give Severus time to recover.

"How do you know he's my boyfriend?" he said loudly.

Wand still pointing at Severus, Rosier glanced over at Harry. He laughed coarsely. "That old aunt of yours told me all about it, pretty boy. Fine goings on for the hero of the Wizarding World, I must say. Just wait till Rita Skeeter hears about it."

"I'm proud to be Severus' boyfriend!" Harry shouted at him. He was delighted to see Severus looking up from the floor at him with a gobsmacked expression Harry felt sure was not entirely due to the Cruciatus Curse.

"Then you deserve all that's coming to you!" Rosier shouted back, turning his wand on Harry. He paused, an evil smile coming to his lips. "In fact, that gives me an idea. You'll be killed trying to defend him. The coward holds you in front of him as a shield, yes, that would –"

His eyes suddenly lost focus. As his knees buckled and he began to fall, Harry saw behind him the fireplace glowing a subdued shade of green. Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of it into the room, wand raised. He was followed by two grim-faced Aurors, also armed.

Kreacher and Winky peeped out from behind them and exchanged satisfied smiles.

*

That night Harry lay in bed in Dudley and Lynne's spare room, wondering if and when Severus would join him.

Kingsley had agreed to let them stay in Wales until he had completed his interrogation of Rosier and his dupes, now safely locked in holding cells at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. So far he'd not found any evidence to suggest that any other Ministry of Magic employees had been suborned, but as he said, one couldn't be too careful.

Lynne and Rheannon seemed none the worse for their experiences. The same could not be said for Aunt Petunia, who, after grudgingly returning Harry and Severus' wands, had packed her bags and returned to Little Whinging, much to Lynne's secret delight. Severus had insisted he needed no treatment for the pain caused by the Cruciatus Curse: he and Winky were staying up late brewing a potion for Rheannon to ensure she suffered no after-effects from the Stupefy spell. Harry had offered to help, but instead had been given another dose of Nourishing Nostrum and told he still needed to rest.

An hour later he was still awake, still fruitlessly trying to analyse Severus' motivations. Maybe now Aunt Petunia had gone, he'd have no reason to... to what? Fuck Harry into the mattress? Make him scream? Harry groaned softly in frustration.

A voice spoke quietly from the doorway. "Not asleep yet, Harry?"

"Severus?" Harry couldn't keep the hope from his voice. A moment later, some at least of his questions were answered when Severus straddled him; his hair flopped against Harry's face as he bent down for a long and searching kiss.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said enthusiastically, when he could speak. "Thank Merlin."

"Mmmm?" enquired Severus, lazily running his hand across Harry's chest to tweak a nipple.

"I was afraid you wouldn't be interested without the audience in the next room," Harry admitted.

"I have to confess, it did add spice to the experience," Severus said, pulling down Harry's boxers and caressing his cock. "But you need have no worries about my... interest in you."

He quickly removed his clothes, proving his point. Harry growled with satisfaction and reached for Severus' erection.

"Harry Potter.... what was it? ... ah yes, _Throat Pryer_..." murmured Severus.

"Who's prying whose throat?" asked Harry, his voice suddenly husky. "Or maybe we both should. Ever had a soixante-neuf?" He wriggled round beneath Severus to demonstrate, and soon each had swallowed the other to the root. Nuzzling and sucking frantically, they came within seconds of each other.

As they lay together afterwards, happily spent, Harry whispered, "See, who needs Aunt Petunia as an aphrodisiac?"

Severus made an odd noise. Was it a chuckle?

"What?" asked Harry.

"I really don't need to keep annoying your aunt. She'll soon have an ongoing source of irritation much closer to home."

Harry heaved himself up onto his elbows so he could look down at Severus' face.

"You look like a Kneazle who's got all the cream. What source of irritation?" he asked.

Severus smirked up at him. "I carried out some magical tests on Rheannon this evening."

"And?"

"Petunia's beloved granddaughter – is a witch."

  
**Fin**   


**Author's Note:**

> The [Elvis rock](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elvis_Rock) does exist; we've driven past it many times on our way to Aberystwyth.
> 
> The crossword which Lynne completes with Severus' help is from one of my favourite crossword setters and can be found [here](http://www.guardian.co.uk/crosswords/cryptic/22993).
> 
> Anagrams were courtesy of http://wordsmith.org/anagram/advanced.html.
> 
> Lynne's remark about Llanddewi Brefi refers to the BBC TV show _Little Britain_ in which Daffyd continually claims to be the only gay in the village.


End file.
